


whumptober 2019

by killerqueenwrites



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehumanization, Electrocution, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Medical Inaccuracies, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Protective Tony Stark, Stitches, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, Whumptober 2019, probably, stab wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 08:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: 31 irondad and spiderson whump prompts for the month of october





	1. stab wound, bleeding out, shaky hands, stitches (pt. 1)

**Author's Note:**

> it me, with another whump challenge! i really wanted to do this last year, but chickened out and made my grand entrance into the irondad fandom with febuwhump instead. i'm pretty busy irl so there are only 10 chapters, but!! each prompt will be filled, don't worry.
> 
> i'm hoping to do some halloween prompts as well, but if you want something scary, check out my supernatural/monster hunting au series, 'family business'.
> 
> warnings for blood and stitches. enjoy!

They throw them into the cell without ceremony, no rougher than they need to be, and lock the door behind them. There’s no talking, no threats, no monologues, just stiff silence and the click of the lock behind them.

Peter’s mask is gone, his hair stuck in sweaty tendrils to his forehead. Tony’s suit had been abandoned about ten corridors ago; he’d surrendered in an instant after landing and hearing Peter’s cry of pain because someone, somehow, had managed to stab him. They’d fucking _stabbed_ him. Jesus.

“Let me see,” Tony says the second they’re left alone.

“It’s fine–“

“Peter, let me see.” Tony’s glad that Peter’s learned when to argue and when not to; he’s already pulled taut, and the slightest bit more stress will snap him in two.

Peter sighs and moves his hand away from the rapidly growing stain on his side. “I don’t think it hit anything important.”

“It hit you.”

“Well, there’s that.” Peter tries a smile, but it’s strained.

Tony pulls back the ripped edges of the suit and winces, the wound is deep, oozing blood at a frankly alarming rate, but looks neat, like it’s from a straightforward blade. “Okay. Keep pressing down.” He pulls his undershirt over his head, followed by his tank top, which he hands over. “Press. Down.”

Peter does, taking a seat against the wall with a grunt. “Hurts.”

“Hardly surprising.”

“Mr Stark, I’m really sorry–“

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Not having that.”

“I should’ve been paying more attention, but there were so many of them–“

“And I should’ve made sure my info was good before dragging you along with me.” Tony tugs his shirt back on and slides down the wall beside him, aching to pull his kid into his arms. _No. Don’t show weakness._

They lapse into silence, waiting for something else to happen, anything. Peter’s breathing speeds up every so often as he shifts the pressure on his side, and it tears at something in Tony’s chest.

After counting every single speck in the otherwise smooth concrete of their cell – it must have been made recently, if the shiny door and the spotless walls are anything to go by – Tony turns his head. “How’re we looking?”

“It…it’s still bleeding.”

“It’s what?”

“It should be stopped by now,” Peter whispers, something like fear in his eyes, and Tony wants to grab it and throw it away, as far away as possible. Peter doesn’t often get scared, not like this. “It shouldn’t – I don’t know what’s–“

“Keep the pressure on it,” Tony says, brusque, distanced. Someone could be watching, waiting for something to use against them. He can’t risk breaking his facade.

“Mr Stark…”

“Keep–“

“Someone’s coming.”

Tony spins, throwing his arms out, putting himself between Peter and the door. They’re not going to touch his kid, he won’t let them–

The door opens and a small metal box clatters to the floor.

“Stitch him up,” a voice orders. “He’s no good to us if he’s dead.” The door slams shut again.

Tony _really_ doesn’t like that, because it implies that there’s some sort of _use_ for Peter, some _reason_ he’s here.

“You’re gonna have to do it.” Peter swallows as he says this, rests his head back. “I’ll probably just stab myself again.” His hands, still pressed over his abdomen, are trembling.

_Shit_. Tony yanks the box towards them and pulls out gauze, antiseptic, needle, thread. “This isn’t gonna be pleasant, buddy.”

“I know. Been stitched up before.”

“Yeah, by a professional. With painkillers.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but Peter’s faces pales a little more. “Uhh, you know what? Maybe we can wait a while longer – see if it stops by itself–“

“What, when you run out of blood? We’re not waiting until you bleed out on the floor.” Tony tries to thread the needle, once, twice, again, but his own hands are shaking. It takes five attempts. “Okay, I need you to hold your suit out of the way, you got that? And try to keep still.”

Peter watches the needle with frightened eyes. God, he’s going to hate Tony after this.

“Right. Gotta disinfect it first.” Tony sticks the thread in his mouth to hold it, reaching for the bottle. “Um. Deep breath.”

“Do you have to?”

“Do you want sepsis?” Tony retorts, talking around the thread. “Didn’t think so.” _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, as soon as we get out of here, you’re getting the biggest hug._

Peter clenches his jaw and nods once, because he might be scared but he’s also brave, so damn brave.

“That’s it, buddy.”

There’s a second when he thinks they might be okay. The antiseptic hits Peter’s wound, mixing with the blood as it trickles down, and for a brief moment, nothing happens.

And then Peter _screams_, his back arching off the wall, his head snapping back. A breathless sob follows, choked and pitiful, and Tony blinks away the tears in his eyes.

“That’s it, kid,” he murmurs, “that was the worst part, just gotta close it up now. You’re doing so good.” He doesn’t even know if Peter can hear him.

The first couple of stitches are horrendous; Tony’s hands are quivering and each one of Peter’s breaths is a shuddering effort, but he quickly gets into the rhythm of it, trying to forget that it’s Peter he’s stitching up. It’s different when it’s someone you care about.

“All done, kid.” He finishes tying up the thread, scrubbing off as much blood as he can onto his sweatpants. “You still with me?”

“That sucked,” Peter rasps without opening his eyes. “So much. You have no idea how much. Or – maybe you do, but still.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“What do they want?”

“I wish I knew, kid. I’m not even sure if they’re the previous occupants or some squatters that found the place abandoned. I should’ve made sure.” So much for a routine data retrieval mission.

“‘Kay.” Peter’s eyes are slipping closed, although he seems to be trying to fight it. “What time – time is it?”

“No idea.” Their cell is windowless and chilly, with no way to even guess at what’s going on outside. “You tired?”

“Mm.”

Tony hesitates for a second, glancing at the floor. How much blood is that? Is it too much for a person to lose? How much was Peter bleeding before they were thrown in here? Can he afford to let the kid sleep? “…okay, but I’m gonna be waking you up every few hours, you got that?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh.” Peter shuffles closer, each movement accompanied by a little grunt, and lays his head on Tony’s shoulder.

_No! No, don’t let them see! They’ll use it._

But they already saw Tony give up without question once Peter was hurt. They’ve already seen all they need to.

“So, you still like me after that?”

“D’I ever like you in th’first place?”

“Ah, there’s the cheek. I missed it.” Tony brings a hand up to rest in Peter’s hair – it’s sweaty and warm, and he frowns. “You feeling okay? Aside from the obvious?”

“Feel gross. Ew.”

Tony laughs gently. _This kid._ “Well, make sure you tell me if you feel any grosser.”

“Mm.” Slowly, slowly, Peter’s short breaths even up and the pained lines on his face smooth out.

“That’s it,” Tony murmurs. “Had enough of you being in pain for a lifetime, kid.”

He waits, gently running his fingers through Peter’s hair, soothing himself with the motion, until he estimates a couple of hours have passed.

“Okay, kiddo, wakey-wakey.” He taps Peter’s cheek. It’s hot. “You still alive in there?”

Peter grumbles something incoherent, sounding just like he normally does whenever Tony has to rouse him.

“All right, all right, normal service has resumed.” The kid’s enhanced healing must be taking care of the blood loss. “Gonna be the same deal in another couple hours, so get ready for that.”

Unimpressed silence. Tony wants to laugh; for a second, he can almost forget that they’re prisoners and that he nearly watched his kid bleed out on this cold concrete floor.

“Yeah, whatever, I’m the worst. Go back to sleep, Underoos.”

One more roughly-calculated hour, then another. Tony starts to get warm, almost to the point of sweating, and shifts so he can see Peter’s face again.

“Hey, kid?”

Nothing.

“Peter. Nap time’s over.” His voice gets a little sharper. “Up and at ‘em, Spider-Man.”

Still no response, so Tony pats his cheek again. It’s burning hot.

“Oh, shit. Hey. Hey, Pete, wake up. Wake the fuck up.”

Peter’s head lolls off its perch on Tony’s shoulder and hits his arm, his whole body horrifyingly limp.

“_No_. No, kid, snap out of it.” Tony fumbles for Peter’s wrists – _please please please_ – and just about passes out in relief when he finds the pulse. “Okay. Okay, buddy, I need you to stay with me. Just…” His eyes fall on the medkit, lying a few feet away. They said they wanted Peter alive, right? Right now, Tony will take _alive_ for whatever reason over this. “Hey! Anyone out there? The kid needs help!”

He tries to lunge towards the door – to bang on it, kick it, whatever – but Peter’s fingers suddenly tighten around his arm.

“No…”

Fuck, it hurts to hear him like that.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. You with me?”

Peter’s eyes are out of focus, rolling in their sockets. He’s gonna take that as a _no_.

“Peter. Focus up.” Tony’s so fucking grateful that all the terror is doing is making him as sharp as a razor. When they’re safe, when Peter’s okay, then he can fall apart. For now, all his focus is on one thing. “Eyes on me, kid. It’s just me. I need to check your side again, okay? Not gonna do anything, just gonna look.”

“No,” Peter whines when Tony tugs the tear in his suit, “no, please…”

“Just me, kid, just Tony.” He squints at the wound; is he losing it, or is it turning a little green? It’s definitely redder than he’d like it to be.

“H’rts – T’ny, _please_–“

“I’m trying, Pete, I’m trying.” He must be out of it if it’s _Tony_ rather than _Mr Stark_. “Hey! Hello, guys! Did you hear me?”

They don’t come. They’re not coming.

Peter shivers, violent shudders that wrack his whole body and don’t stop, not even when Tony pulls him close and rubs his arms to try and warm him up.

It must be infected. Tony must have done something wrong, been careless. How could he have been so careless with Peter’s life in his hands?

“Okay,” he breathes, shifting so Peter is sitting in his lap. Even through their clothes, the heat coming off his skin is scorching, and Tony’s hands shake as they clasp Peter’s face; gently, gently, he’s holding a precious thing. “Okay, kid, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

Peter makes a neutral sound at the back of his throat, but it’s a response. Tony can work with that.

“Right, right, no worries. How about me? You know who I am?”

Finally, fucking finally, Peter’s eyes pick a spot, focus on it, blink, look again.

“Hey.” Tony manages something that probably looks like a smile. “Hey, kiddo, that you? Earth to Peter Parker?”

“…Ben?”

_Oh, shit._


	2. hallucination, delirium, recovery (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ben, it hurts…”
> 
> “I know, kiddo, I know.”
> 
> Peter lets his head fall forward, knock against Tony’s collarbone. “‘M gonna die?”
> 
> Tony’s stomach drops. “No!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've just updated my hallowe'en prompts collection, so if you want some autumn fluff, head over there!

_previously:_

_Finally, fucking finally, Peter’s eyes pick a spot, focus on it, blink, look again._

_“Hey.” Tony manages something that probably looks like a smile. “Hey, kiddo, that you? Earth to Peter Parker?”_

_“…Ben?”_

_Oh, shit._

* * *

“Ben?” Peter says again, his voice stronger this time. “Ben, what…how are you here? How…”

“No, Pete – it’s me, it’s Tony.”

To his horror, Peter’s eyes well with tears. “Ben, I’m sorry. I should’ve – I couldn’t–“

_Okay. Ben it is_. “No, buddy, it wasn’t your fault.” Tony knows next to nothing about Peter’s uncle – he was kind, they used to go for sandwiches together, he was killed in a grocery store robbery – but the kid seems to buy it.

“Ben, it hurts…”

“I know, kiddo, I know.”

Peter lets his head fall forward, knock against Tony’s collarbone. “‘M gonna die?”

Tony’s stomach drops. “No!”

Peter flinches back at his shout.

“No, of course you’re not. That’s not allowed, you hear me?”

“Bu’ y’re here.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re going anywhere.” Tony’s arms tighten around him, a reflex, a defence. _You can’t take him. You’re not having him_. “You got that? Not allowed.”

Peter doesn’t respond to that, instead mumbling, “Th’nk Misser S’ark’s mad at me.”

“Why do you think that, kiddo?”

“We got caught.” Peter lets out a little wheeze that could be a laugh. “I got _stabbed_.”

“That wasn’t your fault, bud.”

“Shoulda…been more careful. Dunno. Maybe.”

“You didn’t know there’d be so many guards,” Tony soothes.

“Mm…”

They lapse into silence. Tony smooths some damp curls off Peter’s forehead.

“Whassit…?”

“What’s that, buddy?”

“What’s it like? There?”

Tony, who doesn’t believe in any kind of afterlife, is left scrambling for answers. “Um…it’s nice, kid. Just…peaceful. But you don’t need to worry about that yet, you hear me?”

“D’you like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I like it.” _Back up, back up_. “I miss you, though.”

“M’ss you too…” Peter trails off into incoherent mumbling.

Tony goes back to counting the hours, alone with only Peter’s laboured breathing for company. He keeps one hand around Peter’s wrist, calming himself with the rapid beat under his fingers. Still there. Peter’s still there.

“Mmph…”

“What’s that, kid?”

“Don’ like…”

“Don’t like what?”

“Bl’ck…”

“Okay, so we’re not making sense anymore. That’s fine. No worries.”

“St’rs.”

“Uh-huh. You miss the stars? Bit boring stuck in here, isn’t it?”

“St’ck?”’

“Not stuck, sorry. Bad choice of words.”

“‘M’kay.” Peter doesn’t speak again, and Tony tries to ignore the nagging little voice in the back of his head that worries he’s just heard his kid’s voice for the last time.

_Someone, please find us_. _Soon_. Rhodey, Pepper, Happy – he’d even take Steve right now.

But Rhodey’s been deployed overseas for the past week. Pepper is on a business trip. Happy is looking after Morgan. Tony made the stupid stupid decision to scope out this supposedly empty base with half-assed intel and didn’t tell anyone except Peter, because what’s the worst that could happen, right?

This. This is the worst that can happen.

It seems like an eternity of silence – too quiet, Peter is never so silent, so still – before the lock clicks and the door swings open.

There’s only one man, dressed all in black, but Tony still tightens his grip on Peter and scowls ferociously.

“Well, he doesn’t look very good.”

There’s something in his tone, his smirk, his smug expression, that makes Tony start to think it might not be completely his fault. “What did you do?”

“Might’ve coated our knives with poison.”

“You told me to stitch him up,” Tony says, terror bleeding into his every word as fury.

“Yeah?”

“You knew.”

“‘Course. Just wanted to see how you’d react. Turns out, just the way we needed you to.”

_He’s no good to us if he’s dead._ And there’s why.

“You see, _Mr Stark_.” The way he says it is mocking; he’s been listening to them. Tony knew it. “I’d love to come to you with some wildly original demands, but that’s not what I’m here for. I just want weapons.”

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“You sure? Because _Peter_ looks like he might need you to.”

“Leave him out of this–“

“Too late.” The man pulls a syringe from his pocket. “Yes or no?”

“What do you want the weapons for?”

“Yes or no, Stark?”

“Why do you want–?”

“You want the kid to die?”

Tony glances down. Peter hasn’t moved from his lap, and his chest is rising and falling in jerky gasps. He’s _dying_.

“Fine! All right, fine, I’ll help you.”

“Thought you’d come around,” the man says cheerfully, like he wasn’t just threatening to kill a child, to let him die. “Does his suit come off easily? Neck injections aren’t always the safest.”

It takes Tony a long moment to collect himself before he can tap the spider on Peter’s chest. The suit comes loose, although he has to peel it away from the kid’s sweaty skin.

“Just the shoulder will be fine.” The man injects the contents of the syringe surprisingly gently. “It’s a good thing he’s enhanced, or he’d be dead by now.”

Tony swallows.

“He’ll be fine in a couple of hours.” The man raps on the door to be let out. “Looking forward to doing business with you, Mr Stark.”

And then he’s gone. They’re alone.

Peter drags in another rattling breath, but the next one seems to come a little easier. Tony drags him upright and pulls him against his chest – selfish, maybe, but he needs to feel the rise and fall of Peter’s breaths, his heartbeat through his suit.

“Okay, buddy,” he murmurs, “you take as long as you need to. I’m still gonna be right here.”

Tony’s been afraid of himself before, of what he’d do for Pepper, for Rhodey, for Happy, he’d kill for them, die for them, but it all pales in comparison to what he’d do for Peter. He’s never been so truly frightened of the lines he’s prepared to cross.

He’s going to be forced to make weapons – bombs, guns, missiles, all those things he swore he was done with, things that hurt people, and he’ll do it all for Peter. Peter is his weak spot. He always will be.

Hours pass in unbearable silence. The only thing that keeps Tony from going completely mad is the fact the Peter’s skin feels a little cooler each time he touches it. He taps the spider on Peter’s chest again and lets the suit shrink to fit him; the kid looks a little less vulnerable, a little less exposed.

_He’s not going to die. He’s not going to die._

The door opens again, but only for a second, just long enough for a couple of packaged sandwiches and some water bottles to fly in and skitter along the ground towards them.

In a way, it’s not the worst captivity Tony’s ever experienced, but his brain keeps replaying the cold malice in the man’s eyes as he stared down at Peter’s limp form. These people might not be showing themselves just yet, but he has no doubt they’re fully capable of the worst kinds of cruelty.

He eats half of one of the sandwiches; Peter’s healing ability depends on his stomach being full.

As if summoned by the thought of his name, like Tony hasn’t been wishing for it for countless hours, Peter grumbles something nonsensical and turns his face into Tony’s shoulder.

“Hey, kid. You with me this time?”

“No.”

“You sure?” Tony smiles. He’d fallen into this trap before, the false belief that Peter was fine, but he does seem better this time around. “You sound kinda awake.”

“Don’ wan’…” Peter lifts his head, blinking owlishly. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Still in the cell, I’m afraid.”

“I thought…” Peter’s forehead crumples. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“Don’t worry about it, buddy. You feel okay?”

“Hungry.”

At least Tony can help with that. “Eat up, then. You like ham salad?”

“Mr _Stark_.”

“Mr _Parker_.”

“You should finish your one.”

“Nope. That’s all yours, Underoos.”

Peter scowls at him, which is about as intimidating as an angry puppy.

“Seriously, I’m good. You need it.”

With a heavy sigh, just so Tony knows he isn’t happy about it, Peter starts to eat. Every so often, he winces and ghosts a hand over his side, but nothing more.

“What happened?” Peter says once he’s about halfway through his sandwiches and there’s some colour back in his cheeks. “I feel like – you know when you wake up from what you thought was gonna be a short nap and instead it feels like you time-travelled to a different century?”

Tony is shocked into laughter. “That’s…oddly specific.”

“Well, I feel like that.”

“You living the college student life already?”

“Mr Stark.”

“Okay, okay! No dodging, I got it.” Tony sighs. “You, uh, it was looking a bit dicey for a while there. You were…a bit out of it.”

“Did I say anything stupid?”

“…no.”

“And I just got better?”

Tony hasn’t slept for hours, maybe a day. He’s too tired for this. “They, um, gave you something. Antibiotics, or something like that.”

“Why?” Because Peter might be exhausted, dead on his feet, but he’s still sharper than some people on their best day. “Why would they do that?”

“I don’t–“

“What did they tell you?” Peter stares him down. “What are they making you do?”

“Nothing, Peter, why would you think–?”

“Who gave me the shot, then? I can feel it in my arm, so can you–? Please stop lying.”

_Shit. _“I have to do some things for them. Don’t worry about it.”

“Like what?”

“Peter–“

“Don’t ‘Peter’ me like that. This is about me, I have a right to–“ Peter freezes, his head tilting to the side.

“Kid?”

“Someone’s coming.”

“Okay, just stay out of their way. They want me, and you’re still recovering–“

Peter, inexplicably, grins.

“Hey, what’s that about? You losing the plot again? What–?”

The door flies open with an explosive bang.

“Huh. So the dude wasn’t lying.”

“I told you.”

Pepper and Rhodey flip their faceplates up completely in sync. Tony breathes out a sigh of relief.

“You guys okay?”

“Getting there,” Peter says, starting to climb to his feet.

After the last day, Tony will take that happily. Speaking of which… “How long has it been?”

“Twenty hours since Happy noticed and raised the alarm.” Pepper glances at Rhodey. “Probably a few hours more than that – oh my God, Peter!”

“It’s okay! It’s fine, please don’t freak out!”

“You’re covered in blood–!”

“it’s stopped bleeding. Actually.” Peter makes a face and runs his finger along the wound. “We should maybe look at taking the stitches out? Just a suggestion. And McDonald’s. I want McDonald’s.”

That’s closer to normal. Tony can do normal. “Yeah, you’re getting all the McDonald’s you want, and I need coffee, so our interests overlap.”

“Thought you said McDonald’s coffee is shit?” Rhodey says.

“Desperate times, honeybear. Come here, kid.” Tony holds an arm out and Peter walks right in, nestling into his side. _He’s fine. He’s okay._

“_All_ the McDonald’s? Seriously?”

“Just this once.”

“We’ll have to get some for Morgan, too. And Happy. Cheeseburgers.”

“Can do.”

Peter nods, before wincing again. “Um, about the stitches…?”


	3. human shield, gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony engages his repulsors and crashes through the nearest wall before he even realises what he’s doing.
> 
> The men are clustered in a loose circle, each of them holding cobbled-together weapons that Tony easily recognises. As he lands, gauntlets raised and ready to fire, the man closest to him drags a familiar figure to their feet and tugs them against his chest like a shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still on track! whoo!
> 
> set in the few months after homecoming, hence the slight awkwardness - it's such a fun stage of their relationship to write about! if you want more stuff set around the same time period, check out my one-shot 'asking for a friend'.

“Thirty seconds, kid.”

_“Okay! Ooh, I can see it – I kinda wish they’d all take the hint and stop selling this stuff, Mr Stark. I mean, how many of these rings are we gonna have to take out before the weapons stop making their way onto the streets? You think you’d crash a plane and take out their boss, they’d stop, right? But _nooo_–“_

“Ten seconds.”

Peter finally, finally shuts up.

He’s right, Tony has to admit. It’s been months since the Homecoming Incident – and yes, he feels absolutely justified giving it capital letters in his head – but small groups of people seem to be cropping up all over the place with the Vulture’s old stock. It’s getting kind of repetitive.

Peter unhooks his legs from around Tony’s waist and drops a good twenty feet to the ground, landing with a roll. He’s getting good, not that Tony will ever tell him that.

“Okay, you know the drill,” he says, dropping down right beside Peter. “FRIDAY is telling me there are six guys in there, all clustered in the middle. We don’t know what weapons they have, so–“

“I need to sneak in and scope it out. Got it.” Peter nods, squares his shoulders. He’s always so compliant on these missions, so eager to please, as if he’s trying to make up for something when, in reality, it’s Tony that completely fucked up. By ignoring him, by pushing him away, by yelling, by taking the suit, by trying to pretend he didn’t care when he really cared far too much for either of their sakes.

“I’m quite enjoying having a sneaky little sidekick.”

“‘M not a sidekick,” Peter mutters.

“Whatever you say, Robin.”

“Ugh. If I’d joined the team, would you still do this?”

“Oh, worse. I’d have Rhodey hazing you left, right and centre.”

“_Ugh_,” Peter groans again, because he’s a semi-mature, mostly-fledged superhero who also happens to be absolutely smack bang in the middle of his teenage years.

“Go on, Spider-baby. Do your thing. Give me the heads-up when I’m good to go.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you in a few, Mr Stark.” With that, Peter bounds over to the side of the building and clambers up it with ease. He gives a joking salute before he slips inside.

Tony laughs despite himself. Peter Parker is annoying in all the best ways.

He’s still reeling from how fast this all happened, but how he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Once May Parker was done putting the fear of God in him, once she’d finished yelling and screaming and crying, once Peter was finally ungrounded, once he’d promised the kid’s aunt that his intention, before anything else, was to keep him safe, she’d allowed short patrols and weekly visits to the Compound. Of course, the instant Peter was back out the street, he noticed that the problem he thought he’d solved by taking down the Vulture – in his fucking pyjamas. Tony still gets heart palpitations about it — hadn’t gone away at all.

Hence this, their sixth intercepted deal in as many months.

“Hey, FRI? Get me a look inside there. Kid’s being a bit quiet.”

_“Scanning.”_

After a second, a thermal scan pops up on his HUD.

There are seven people in the centre of the warehouse.

Tony engages his repulsors and crashes through the nearest wall before he even realises what he’s doing.

The men are clustered in a loose circle, each of them holding cobbled-together weapons that Tony easily recognises. As he lands, gauntlets raised and ready to fire, the man closest to him drags a familiar figure to their feet and tugs them against his chest like a shield.

“Okay,” Tony says calmly. The whites of the Spider-Man suit eyes are wide, his shoulders heaving. “Let him go. We can talk this out.”

“Yeah,” the man says, “let’s talk.” And then he pulls out his huge, glowing, crude but still incredibly dangerous alien gun and rests it against Peter’s temple.

So this should probably be a bad time to panic. Tony is still panicking.

He tries to force himself to be objective, tries to pretend it’s anyone else but the kid being held at gunpoint – but that just begs the whole question of why he cares so much that it _is_ the kid, and that’s a conversation he’s really _not_ ready to have with himself.

“We won’t hurt your sidekick as long as you cooperate.”

“Not a sidekick,” Tony says shortly, letting his helmet fold away. “And I’m just supposed to believe you?”

“Toomes didn’t tell us everything, but he gave us enough. We know this little brat’s still in high school.”

Tony clenches his jaw but doesn’t make a move.

“I don’t wanna hurt a kid any more than you do, okay? We just wanna leave without any trouble.”

“Okay. Fine. No bother. Just let him go, all right? You can leave, and I’ll hold off calling the cops for a couple hours. Put the gun down.”

“Get out of the suit.”

“Mr Stark, don’t–“

“Shut up,” someone else hisses and jabs Peter in the stomach.

“Dude, stop it!”

“We ain’t gonna get anywhere at this rate! ‘I don’t wanna shoot him.’ Why the hell not?”

“He’s a kid, you moron.”

“He’s the one who took down Toomes. He’s the reason we’re picking up scraps.”

Tony tunes out their argument and looks at Peter, checking if he’s hurt. Karen – seriously, Karen? – flashes up a calming blue in the corner of his HUD. Good.

Peter taps his leg, out of sight of the men, spreading all his fingers out before tucking one away. He’s counting down.

Tony shakes his head once, frantic, but Peter just continues his count.

_Seven. Six._

_“War Machine approaching_,” FRIDAY announces.

God bless Rhodey. The kid must have heard him.

_Four. Three._

Peter bends his knees, preparing to spring upwards. Tony, meanwhile, prepares for multiple heart attacks.

War Machine crashes through the roof, and the man holding Peter completely forgets to use him a shield this time, instead letting go so he can swing his blaster around. Peter leaps into action, webbing up any men that Rhodey doesn’t hit with his sudden hail of repulsor blasts.

All in all, Tony feels a bit redundant.

“Called the cops,” is the first thing Rhodey says. “They’re three minutes out.”

“Awesome,” Tony says, “cool. Kid, come here.”

Peter does as he’s told, trotting over to Tony like he wasn’t just three seconds from away having his head blasted into nothing. “I’m all good. Are you good?”

Tony blows out a long, shaky breath. “Ask me again in five minutes. Let’s go outside. Come on. Away from the guns.”

Peter doesn’t fight him, just lets Tony drag him out of the warehouse, chattering all the way. “Hi, Mr Colonel War Machine! That was so cool, the way you just swooped in – I could hear your thrusters, did you know that? Mr Stark didn’t believe me. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you – again, I mean, I was there in Germany. Do you remember that? It’s okay if you don’t remember that, there was a lot going on.”

“Still like to talk, huh?” Rhodey flips his faceplate back. “Tony, what are you doing here?”

“Busting weapons dealers. What are _you_ doing here?”

“FRIDAY set off an alarm in the Compound. The Baby Boo-boo protocol?”

“Mr Staaaark,” Peter grumbles.

Rhodey looks between the two of them. “Tones, I’m gonna ask you again: how old is this guy?”

“Old enough, or he wouldn’t be here. Trust me.”

Peter looks up, tilting his head to the side. Tony understands him instantly.

“Your choice, kid. I trust Rhodey with my life.”

“And I trust you,” Peter says, and pulls his mask off.

If Rhodey is surprised, shocked, horrified, angry, he doesn’t show it, simply raises one eyebrow the way he always does when he’s trying hard not to look impressed. “Jeez, Tony, he really is a baby.”

“I’m fifteen.”

“You say that like it’s helping your case.” Rhodey shakes his head. “So you’re the one who impressed Tony Stark so much he gave you a new suit and an invitation to join the team? Which you turned down, I might add.”

“Yeah. Uh, sorry?”

“Oh, no, kid. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I’d been trying to get him to propose to Pepper for months.”

“Knew it wasn’t a test,” Peter mutters, shooting Tony a mutinous glare.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Tony claps his hands before they can gang up on him anymore. “Get your mask back on, Spider-baby. You’re staying at the Compound tonight. It’s closer to here than Queens.”

“Okay, but you’re telling May.”

“Done.”

Peter beams and pulls his mask back over his face before hopping onto Tony’s back in the familiar position – Tony staunchly refuses to call it a piggyback, when it’s clearly just the most practical way of carrying the kid around. He has to admit, though, after all that, there’s something reassuring about Peter’s weight on his shoulders, the legs wrapped around his waist. Nothing happened. They’re both okay.

Rhodey watches them, something approaching fondness on his face.

“What are you looking at?” Tony asks, although he already knows the answer.

Rhodey shakes his head again. “I’m looking at you.”

“Why?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

As he takes off, wincing at Peter’s excited yell in his ears but somehow not really minding it, Tony thinks he already has.


	4. dragged away, muffled scream (pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting twice in one day to catch up a little bit! the other update was on my '13 nights of halloween', so head over there if you need a dose of fluff after after this.
> 
> warnings for some blood and kidnapping of a young child

“Again!” Morgan demands, clapping her little hands.

“All right, you ready?” Tony shares a glance with Peter as they each take one of her hands. “One, two, _three_–“

They hoist her up together, swinging her forward as she shrieks in glee.

Peter laughs. “You’re flying, Mongoose!”

“Like Daddy!”

“Yeah, like Da– uh, like Tony.”

Tony pretends not to notice his slip, but it’s probably the best thing he’s heard in a long time. _Dad_.

“God, where did Happy park?” Peter groans. “New Jersey?”

“Don’t tempt him.”

“Can we come back here again?” Morgan pipes up.

“What?” Tony pretends to act shocked, and preens when both kids giggle. “After eating enough ice cream to last you a week, you want _more?”_

“It’s so _good_!”

“It is. Queens came up good.”

It’s Peter’s turn to preen.

“Come on. Couple more blocks.”

“Ughhh,” Morgan groans, a habit she’s clearly picked up from her brother. “My feet hurt.”

“Exercise is good for–“ Tony breaks off when Peter scoops her up and settles her on his hip. “Okay. _Wow_.”

“This way we get to the car faster,” Peter says, striding ahead of Tony, as if to prove the point.

It happens so fast Tony barely has time to blink. Peter walks past a narrow alley, suddenly tensing up. A dark shape grabs him around the waist and pulls him off the street.

“Hey!” Tony shouts. He tries to sprint to catch up, but wielding the Stones had taken a toll on his whole body, not just his arm. By the time he scrambles around the corner, his kids are trapped in a circle of men wearing black combat gear.

Peter stares at him with wide eyes, apologetic, pleading but so very frightened, too.

“Get the kids,” someone orders – Tony can’t tell who.

“No!” He lurches forward, useless. He doesn’t have a suit, hasn’t been able to use one since the gauntlet. They’re going to take his children, and he won’t be able to stop them, but _fuck_, he has to try.

One of the men snorts. “And make sure he can’t follow us.”

Tony never even sees it coming. One of the men whips his gun up and slams into the back of his head, knocking him to the floor.

“No!” Peter cries, his voice getting further away. “Tony!”

“Daddy!” Morgan shrieks. “Daddy, help!”

He tries to turn, to see where the hell they’re taking his kids, but someone drives a boot into his face with such force that he feels his nose crack, feels blood gush over his lips and chin.

Morgan screams, high-pitched and terrified, and Peter’s hoarsely yelling something; it sounds furious, whatever it is.

Tony peels open his eyes, ignoring the white-hot pain in his nose, to see his children being dragged backwards down the alley, away from him. Peter is fighting to get free, focused entirely on Tony, so Morgan is the one who sees the van first. She screams again, a piercing sound that goes on and on, until one of the men claps a hand over her mouth. Peter turns, his struggles increasing as much as he can without revealing his powers – he’s not Spider-Man here, Tony realises, his stomach clenching, just Peter Parker.

“Let go!” the kid yells, as more and more hands grab him. “Let go, let go, let – Tony!”

Just like with Morgan, a hand covers his mouth and his screams are muffled.

“Take a good look at them, Stark,” someone hisses in Tony’s ear. “You won’t be seeing them for a while.”

They bundle Morgan, still kicking and screaming, into the van first, and _now_ Peter has a choice: allow himself to be taken so he can look after her, or get himself free and help Tony. Tony knows what he’d choose in his place – it’s not even a choice – but the mere thought of Peter making that decision makes his heart squeeze painfully.

“T’ny,” he says again, quiet, pained.

For a long moment, the whole world seems to hold its breath.

“All right, enough.” Something impacts Tony’s ribs, hard enough that his vision whites out for a second.

“Stop it!” Peter shouts. “Leave him alone! Ton–“ The rest is a garbled noise, like someone’s covered his mouth again.

Footsteps slapping against the pavement. Fists hitting flesh. Car doors slamming shut. Tyres screeching. Silence.

Tony closes his eyes in defeat.

* * *

It could be moments later when Happy finds him. It could be hours.

“Boss?” He’s shaking Tony. “Boss, wake up!”

“Hap…?”

“Shit, what happened?” Happy pulls a tissue out of nowhere and presses it against Tony’s nose as he helps him sit up. “You told the kids to hide, right? Peter got Morgan somewhere safe?”

Tony pitches forward despite the pain in his ribs, an inhuman cry tearing out of him.

“Tony?” Happy says, slow, hesitant. “Where are the kids?”

All Tony can do is sob.

* * *

Tony’s family is efficient. By the time Helen finishes checking him over in the Compound’s medbay, Happy has already collected May from Queens, Pepper and Rhodey have flown over, and all of them have set up in one of the conference rooms.

“You didn’t see any faces?” Rhodey asks, as soon as Pepper is done fussing over Tony’s injuries. “Didn’t catch the van’s plates?”

Tony shakes his head, feeling worse than useless. Not only did he let his kids get taken, but he didn’t even manage to get any useful information.

“Okay. Don’t worry about it.” Rhodey pats him on the shoulder. “We’re going through all the CCTV and traffic cams we can. Their trackers are in the alley where Happy found you, so they must have known to take their watches off. Nothing from their cell phones, either, so it’s possible they’ve been destroyed.”

May sits beside Tony, her face pinched and exhausted. They’ve been here before; it’s far from the first time Peter’s been kidnapped, Spider-Man or otherwise. But there’s something different this time, something that trumps Peter’s need to survive. Morgan comes before anything and everything for him, and Tony hates that he’s grateful for it.

“Okay,” Rhodey says finally, “we can’t do much more now. We’re assuming there’s gonna be a ransom demand, so we wait for that to come through. Ball’s in their court, I’m afraid.”

“How can you say that?”

“Tones–“

“Rhodey, why aren’t you–? _Do_ something!”

“I’ve just told you I can’t, Tones. We can’t trace the van, or any of the kids’ tech.”

“How can you just give up?” Tony screeches. He knows he sounds half-crazed, verging on hysterical, but these are his children. His _babies_.

“Honey–“

“I’m not giving up,” Rhodey says, something like steel in his voice. “I didn’t give up on you for three months with less to go on.”

He’s right. Of course he is. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll go and have something to eat,” Pepper says, taking him by the arm, and extends her other hand to May.

“Pep–“

“Tony, you need to eat. You need to _rest_. You can’t do this, honey. Neither can I. We’re too close.”

“I can’t just not do anything–“

“No,” she agrees, “but right now there’s nothing _to_ do, okay? As soon as anything happens, they’ll let us know.”

* * *

Tony eats slowly, his appetite all but gone. Pepper picks at her food, too; her eyes keep straying to the end of the table where Morgan, often Peter and sometimes Harley sit. It’s too quiet, a constant reminder of what’s missing.

The evening passes hellishly slowly. May and Tony stumble around like zombies until Pepper – how she’s staying so calm, Tony will never know – all but frogmarches them to the couches with a dire threat to stay put and a promise to wake them up if anything happens.

“They’ll be fine,” May says eventually. “Peter knows how to handle himself, and he’d never let anything happen to Morgan.”

“That’s what I’m most afraid of,” Tony admits. He has a sudden, vivid memory of Peter’s terror fading into resignation, realising the only option is to let himself be taken and hope they don’t try to separate him from Morgan.

“The joys of parenting Peter.”

“He call me Dad earlier,” Tony blurts out. “Kind of. Almost. He stopped himself, but – it happened.”

May smiles. “About time.”

“Really?”

“You should hear these two when they’re together. Mom this, Dad that. Part of it is so he doesn’t confuse Morgan, I think, but still. Part of it is all him.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah.” May smiles again.

* * *

It’s early the next morning when Tony’s woken up by Rhodey rushing into the lounge, his braces whirring frantically.

“What?” he says, his voice still thick and scratchy with sleep. “What is it?”

“You need to come back to the conference room now.”

“What?” Tony says again, sitting up with a grunt. “Rhodes, tell me.”

Rhodey sighs heavily. “They just sent a video.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued...
> 
> lmao next time: ransom, shackled, beaten


	5. ransom, shackled, beaten (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Morgan.” Peter cuts her off gently but firmly. “He’ll find us. He’s already gonna be looking for us. You trust me, right?”
> 
> “Uh-huh.”
> 
> “He’s going to find us, Mongoose, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your patience and lovely comments! here's part 2

The van jolts again and Morgan cries out, nestling further into Peter’s chest.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Peter whispers again to the trembling bundle in his arms and hopes he isn't lying. “Dad’s gonna find us.”

“He was hurt,” Morgan whimpers.

Peter flinches at the memory of Tony crumbled on the dirty concrete, blood pouring down his face. “Yeah, but you know he won’t let that stop him, Mongoose.”

“Hey.” Someone rattles the chain-link partition that’s separating them from the rest of the van. “Stop talking!”

“She’s five years old and terrified, asshole!” Peter snaps.

Morgan lets out a wet little giggle. “Bad word.”

“Yeah, bad word. Sorry, M.”

Peter hugs her closer as the van finally shudders to a stop.

He’s scared shitless, but not for himself. He could have easily gotten himself free, if he really wanted to, but he chose this. He wasn’t going to leave Morgan to face this alone, he couldn’t. He’s going to do whatever he has to in order to keep her safe.

* * *

They’re marched into a dilapidated house at the end of an empty street, Morgan clinging to Peter’s fingers with both hands. He glares when any of the men get too close, when they look like they might try and separate them.

“Up the stairs.”

The men lead them to a tiny bedroom with a tattered metal bed in the corner. Behind Peter, something clinks.

“All right, princess,” says the man that Peter decides is the leader, “as long as you don’t make any trouble, you can stay with this one. That includes trying to escape. That clear?”

Morgan hides behind Peter’s legs, fisting one hand in his jeans.

“She understands,” Peter says stiffly.

“Guess all the money your daddy’s pouring into your education is paying off, huh?” The room fills with snorts and sniggers. “And you, kid.” He lifts his hand, dangling something with a taunting grin, and Peter understands the noise he’d heard.

"I won't–"

"Nuh-uh. Not optional for you."

There’s really no getting out, not without exposing himself and what he can do. Peter sighs and holds his wrists out.

The handcuffs are tight, almost painful, but the leader loops a chain through them and attaches it to the metal bed frame. At least Peter can move around, he supposes.

“Stay here, stay quiet,” the leader warns as the rest of the men start to file out. “You don’t want to piss us off.”

The door slams, rattles in its frame, locks. Silence.

Peter sits heavily on the bed. “Come here, M.”

She does, climbing into his lap and snuggling between his arms despite his shackled hands. The cuffs are normal metal, the bed frame is rusted and flimsy – he could break out so easily, but if they caught him…

Not worth it. There’s no telling what they’d do to him, what would happen to Morgan.

“What do we do?” Morgan whispers in a tiny voice, and Peter’s heart shatters.

“We just do what they say, and wait for Dad to find us.”

“But what if–?”

“Morgan.” Peter cuts her off gently but firmly. “He’ll find us. He’s already gonna be looking for us. You trust me, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s going to find us, Mongoose, I promise.”

* * *

Peter guesses it’s a few hours before they’re bothered again. Morgan has been fitfully napping in his arms, a little source of warmth in the frigid room. He can’t let himself fall asleep, though, not when he has something so important to protect.

He feels a prickle on the back of his neck a second before footsteps start to climb the stairs, heavy and purposeful. He tightens his grip around Morgan.

“Here they are.” The leader enters holding a camera, his face twisted in a smirk. He’s taken his mask off. “Cute, right? Your kids are real sweet, Stark.”

More men follow him, and Peter’s senses are _screaming_ now, screaming that something’s going to happen.

_But what?_ It’s times like these he wishes his danger sense was just a little more precise. Peter shuffles backwards on the bed, curling his body around Morgan. _Keep her safe, keep her safe._ It’s pounding like a drum in his head.

“Hard way it is,” someone says, and grabs a fistful of his hair, yanks his head back. In the same second, two hands grab Morgan and pull her away.

“Peter!”

“Stop!” Peter leaps off the bed, remembering a second too late that he’s not supposed to be inhumanly strong. _Shit_. He staggers, jerks his hands behind him as the chain rattles, hopes against all hope that it looks believable. Thankfully, the bed only shifts a little bit.

And then there’s a solid fist in his face, and he has an entirely new set of problems.

“Stop! Stop it!”

“It’s okay, M,” he gasps, trying to smile. “Don’t worry, it’s–“

Just getting started, apparently.

His ribs audibly crack. Blood drips down his chin and he stumbles so hard he lands on his knees, his cuffed hands unable to catch him.

“Like father, like son, huh?”

Shit. They’re still filming.

“Smile for Daddy.”

Peter spits blood. Just hours ago, he’d nearly slipped and called Tony ‘Dad’. They’d been laughing in the spring sunshine, swinging Morgan between them. These men are going to sour that memory before it even has the chance to become anything.

“That was us going easy, Stark. Don’t push us.”

Morgan wriggles free and rushes over, her face blotchy. “Peter?”

“I’m fine, Mongoose. Don’t worry about it.”

“Your nose is bleeding.”

“Happens all the time. Don’t sweat it.”

“You two better hope your dad pays up.”

The door slams shut and they’re alone once more.

Peter stays awake until he can’t any longer.

His nose stops bleeding pretty quickly – too quickly, he hopes they don’t notice. Morgan falls asleep in his lap again. It’s dark outside. His ribs hurt. He can’t form more than simple thoughts.

Peter shivers, his eyes slipping shut. Just a few minutes. Just a quick nap. He needs to stay alert.

* * *

“All right.”

Peter jolts awake. The light streaming in through the tiny window looks like early morning.

“Up and at ‘em, princess,” the man says gruffly, tugging Morgan out of Peter’s arms again.

“Hey – no–!”

“Shut up.” There’s a solid boot in his ribs before Peter can move to dodge it; it leaves him gasping, the pain from yesterday flaring up with renewed vengeance.

“Peter!” Morgan cries.

“What are you doing?” Peter wheezes, crawling forward as far as the chains allow. “Please, don’t–“

“Get him downstairs. Go on.”

Someone unlocks the chains but his hands stay cuffed. One less thing to break out of if it comes down to it, he supposes.

“In the car.” The leader puts a surprisingly gentle hand on Morgan’s back, pushing her away from Peter, keeping them separated as two men take Peter by the elbows and pull him along.

“Don’t hurt her,” Peter begs, “please, she’s just a kid, she’s–“

“She’s a Stark,” one of them retorts. “But don’t worry about the little princess. She’s gonna get to go home.”

Peter catches the implication. _You aren’t._

He stumbles his way down the stairs, unsteady on his feet but maybe playing it up just a little. He’s only a scared kid, right?

“Peter…” Morgan turns halfway around, reaching for him with a pitiful expression.

“It’s okay, Mongoose,” Peter says gently. “Not too long, and you’re gonna be with Dad, okay?” He knows this, feels it deep in his gut. She’ll be okay, but he won’t.

“But–“

“_Morgan_. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Come on. We’re wasting daylight.”

The door slams behind her. Gone. _Please let her be safe._

Even as the men tug him backwards, down another flight of stairs, even as the smell of damp fills his nostrils, he hopes with everything he has that Morgan’s safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides*
> 
> next time: abandoned, isolation, embrace


	6. isolation, abandoned, scars, embrace (pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right, then. Kid. Money. Easy swap.”
> 
> “Where is he?” Tony demands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine me combining prompts to make this easier for myself and i'm still behind lmao
> 
> thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter!! i'll get around to answering them when real life takes a break

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. The men shoved him in the room and looked the door behind him, leaving him in complete darkness. Or, at least, he assumes they locked the door. He couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears, and now, he can’t hear anything. No sign that anyone is outside this room.

But he’s okay with this if it means Morgan’s safe. He hopes they weren’t lying about that, hopes his instincts were right. God, he hopes so.

It’s cold, just enough to make him uncomfortable in only a T-shirt. He remembers the last room, metal cuffs sapping every last bit of warmth out of him. At least he’d had Morgan then, curled against his chest, a source of heat, but also a purpose, something to protect. He has none of that now. He has nothing.

Peter digs his nails into his palm again. If he can feel, maybe he isn’t dead.

But what if he is?

* * *

“I’m gonna be in your ear the whole time,” Rhodey says. “The most important thing is to stay calm. Until you have both the kids out of their sight, they have the upper hand on you.”

Tony nods, jerky and nervous.

“It’s gonna be okay, man.”

“Just wish I had a suit.”

“You know what they said.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“See you in a few.” Rhodey claps him on the shoulder and gets back in the car. He drives away, going to find a space a few warehouses down like they’d agreed. Tony’s alone.

The briefcase is heavy in his hand. Five million, they’d demanded, in cash. No tricks. As if Tony was going to do anything else but cooperate when he’d seen Peter allow himself to be beaten into the ground.

There’s a tracking chip in with the money, a tiny thing, but with enough of a signal for Tony to track down the men who took his children and go to town.

_Not yet._ Not until they’re safe. He steels himself and walks inside.

It’s obviously not where they’ve been keeping his kids. The place is completely empty except for two men standing by the back wall, their faces covered.

“Glad you could make it,” one of them says. Tony recognises his voice from the video.

_Peter spitting blood onto the floor. Morgan screaming for them to stop._

“Where are my kids?”

“Do you have the money?”

Tony shakes the briefcase in his hand.

The man nods, lifting a radio to his mouth. “Alright.”

Two more men walk in through a side entrance, pulling Morgan with them. They’re not being rough, but the sight still makes Tony growl.

No one follows.

“Right, then. Kid. Money. Easy swap.”

“Where is he?” Tony demands.

“Ah, yeah. Here’s the thing, Stark: you’re _you_. We need to make sure you don’t pull any shit with us. As soon as we know the money’s good and there’s no tracking devices or anything in it, we’ll let him go and you can pick him up.”

“I’m not trying anything.” Tony’s voice trembles; he doesn’t know if it’s anger or fear. “You think I’d risk my children?”

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

They won’t find the tracking device. It’s too small. Still, Tony’s chest spasms, each breath coming out choppy.

_“Stay calm,”_ Rhodey urges, _“stay calm, Tony, we can handle this.”_

“You taking the princess or not? It’d be a shame if we came all the way out here for no reason. Might piss us off.”

So he’d been right. They weren’t keeping his kids here.

“We might have to find something to take our anger out on. Or some_one_.”

Tony pulls in a shaky breath and puts the briefcase on the floor. “Here. You’ll find it’s all good.”

“And if you’re not trying to fuck us over, you’ll get the other one back safe and sound.” The leader beckons to Morgan. “Go on then, princess.”

Morgan takes a hesitant step forward, then another, before she runs at Tony and he has to bend down to catch her before she collides with his legs.

“Hey, baby,” he gasps, hoisting her up and holding her close, “hey, it’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Wanna go home,” she sobs.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go home. We’re gonna go home.”

The men have already collected the briefcase and started walking towards the back door.

“We’ll be in touch, Stark,” the leader says, smirking at Tony’s glare, and then they’re gone.

“Daddy, Peter–“

_Peter_. “Okay,” Tony says gently. All traces of panic had fled the instant he’d seen Morgan upset; the need to be a parent overrides everything else. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. Uncle Rhodey’s gonna come pick us up, okay? Then we’re gonna go home, and we’ll do everything we can to find your brother. That sound good?”

“They hurt him,” she says, with a sniffle.

_Peter spitting blood._ Tony turns and starts towards the door, cradling her against his chest. “I know they did, baby. What about you? Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head. Peter definitely had the worst of it, and Tony still hates the gratitude he feels.

“Okay. That’s good.” They step into the sunlight just as Rhodey pulls up, and slip into the car. The tension is palpable, solid, keeping everyone frozen in stiff silence.

There’s a stone lodged in Tony’s throat, and it won’t go away no matter what he tries to think about instead.

* * *

Pepper barely waits before Tony gets out of the car before tugging Morgan into her arms with a trembling gasp. May meets Tony’s eyes, their terror the same.

“Boss?” Happy looks up as they traipse back into the conference room – _crisis centre_, Tony’s mind corrects dryly. “Got a signal from the tracker. It’s still moving.”

“Morguna?” Tony says. “Do you remember being in the van with Peter?” His voice falters, memories of them crying out for him hitting suddenly. “Were you in there a long time?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah? Good. That’s good.” Tony turns back to the screens, watching the little dot make its way further and further away. It’s still possible to follow it to Peter, if that’s the case.

“Mommy,” Morgan whines, “hungry.”

“Did they give you any food, honey?” Pepper says. “Any water?”

“No.”

Tony’s stomach clenches; it’s going on twelve hours since they were taken, and the last thing they had to eat was ice cream. Peter’s metabolism must be making this torture for him.

“We’ll go and get you some lunch, Morgan. Cheeseburgers?”

“Yes, please!” She claps her hands together, every inch the happy five-year-old she should be; Peter protected her, shielded her from everything he possibly could. “And get some extras for when Peter gets here, because he’s always hungry.”

“That’s…” Tony clears his throat. “That’s a great idea, baby. Good thinking.”

Pepper and May leave, Morgan clinging to both their hands, and Tony lets himself break.

“Easy,” Rhodey murmurs, rubbing a hand over his back. “We’ll find him, Tony. Breathe.”

“I know.” Tony drags in a breath. They have to. There’s no other option.

* * *

Footsteps above him. Right. He’s in the basement.

“Come on, quick!”

“What about the kid?”

“Fuck the kid. Come on, let’s go before Iron Man shows up.”

_Tony._

Peter stumbles to his feet, staggers to the door. “Hey!” He pounds on the door, weak after too long – how long? He doesn’t know – without food, without water. “Hey, let me out!”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Hey–!”

A door slams. Silence. He’s alone.

* * *

Happy bullies Tony into eating half a burger and some fries – “How can you help Peter if you’ve collapsed from low blood sugar?” – and watches his computer screen like a hawk, Rhodey hovering over his shoulder.

“Been stopped there for a while now.”

“Think that’s it?”

“Maybe.” Rhodey frowns. “No, it’s moving again. Mark that spot, though, just in case.”

“You got it.”

“I’ll go check out that first spot,” Tony decides. “Rhodey, you wait and see where they end up.”

“Are you sure–?”

“Boss,” Happy says, “I’ll go with you.”

“No, I will.” Tony turns to see Pepper in the doorway.

“But Morgan–“

“Is with May, and an ungodly amount of cheeseburgers. One kid is fine.” Pepper smiles. “Let’s get the other one.”

God, Tony loves her.

Happy nods. “So I’ll tell Harley you’ll be with him in a few hours, yeah?”

* * *

_One. Two. Three. Four._

Peter’s losing his mind.

He’s lost count again, too. Awesome.

_Morgan’s safe. Morgan’s safe_. That’s what he has to keep telling himself. She’s back home with Tony and Pepper and May.

God, he misses them already. Even Rhodey and Happy, sometimes on the fringes of their strange little family, would be the best thing in the world right about now. He wants Harley and his snide comments that hide deep loyalty and a softness he lets very few people see. He wants May and Pepper and Tony, his parents. Morgan, his little sister.

Tony will find him, right? Is he even looking? Peter wouldn’t blame him for taking a minute for Morgan. He just hopes Tony works out where he is before he goes completely insane.

_Twenty-nine. Thirty._

* * *

The place is completely abandoned. Not just the ruined house – the entire street. Perfect for hiding two kids who’ve been photographed with Tony and Pepper enough times to be recognisable.

Pepper lands beside him, her faceplate folding back, and he can tell by her expression that she’s thinking the same.

“Fri?”

_“One heat signature detected. Below floor level.”_

“Is it him?” Tony whispers, hardly daring to hope.

_“I need to get closer, Boss.”_

“Go,” Pepper says. “I’ll, um, catalogue evidence.”

Tony blasts the door open and marches inside, his repulsers raised. Pepper follows him and immediately heads up the stairs.

_“Scan confirmed. Peter Parker is in the basement.”_

Tony runs.

He jogs down the steps, flings the door open and light floods into the dark room, falling on a figure slumped in the corner. His heart stops.

Peter lifts his head, squinting. He just stares as Tony stumbles out of his suit. His split lip has barely started healing, the scars and bruises of the beating still painfully obvious, which confirms Tony’s fears that he hasn’t been fed at all.

“Peter–“

“You came?”

Tony hates the question in his tone, hates that Peter ever thought he wouldn’t. “Of course I did, of course, buddy.”

They lurch towards each other at the same moment, meet in the middle, collide with such force that Tony nearly topples over.

Peter sucks in a gasping breath and Tony realises he’s sobbing. “They all left.”

“I know, buddy, I know–“

“I thought–“

“Shh,” Tony soothes in the voice he normally reserves for Morgan, “it’s okay, kid, I’ve got you.”

“Morgan!” Peter jolts, nearly head butting Tony in the chin. “Is she–? What–?”

“She’s absolutely fine,” Tony murmurs, and rests his hand on the top of Peter’s head. “You took care of her, kid. She’s fine, just worried about you.”

Peter relaxes, his hands unclenching, and Tony frowns at the crescent-shaped marks on his palms.

“Peter, what…?”

“Oh,” Peter mumbles. “I couldn’t see them, before.”

They’re deep, practically scars, made even worse by the fact that nobody did this to him. Tony clasps Peter’s hands in his own, wincing at how cold they feel.

“I want to go _home_, Tony.”

“Okay, buddy, okay.” Tony pulls him in for another hug, a proper one this time, not messy and frantic. Peter melts into his arms, all the stress and tension bleeding out of him. “It’s okay. I have you. You’re safe, kid. I love you.”

“Love you,” Peter says, muffled against Tony’s chest. “Th’nk you.”

“No, thank you, Peter. Thank you for protecting your sister like that.”

“I had to,” Peter says, like it’s obvious. “I just – had to.”

Tony knows that feeling, knows it intimately, had known it even before Morgan arrived, even if he hadn’t put a name to it yet: the urgent need to protect, to ensure the other’s safety above all else, the terrifying, all-encompassing love.

Tony climbs back into the suit and lifts Peter into his arms without even asking if he wants to walk, but Peter doesn’t mind, nestling into the armoured chest. Pepper meets them at the top of the stairs, a grim smile on her face.

“Rhodey just called. He tracked down the men at their secondary safe house. Sounds like he had a bit too much fun.” She reaches over to stroke Peter’s cheek and her expression softens. “Hi, honey. Good to see you.”

“Hi.”

“We’d better get back. I think Morgan saved you some cheeseburgers.”

“Oh, she’s my favourite Stark.”

“I’ll leave you here,” Tony threatens.

“Nah.”

“No?”

“Y’love me too much.”

Too damn much is right. “You got me. Come on, Spider-baby. Home time.” He knows Peter’s exhausted when he doesn’t even protest the nickname. “A certain Mrs Parker is probably ready to gut me after all this.”

“Cool. But cheeseburgers first.”

Suddenly, it’s completely understandable why people sometimes confuse Peter for Tony’s biological kid. “Cheeseburgers first.”


	7. laced drink, numb, unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My legs are numb,” Harley announces. “Is that normal?”
> 
> “Dude, no. What?”
> 
> “Dunno.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!! i LOVED all your responses to the three-parter haha. sorry, it was for the drama.
> 
> now have some more potato boi! he's also started making an appearance in my '13 nights of halloween' fic, just in case you need some more harley content.

Peter takes another sip of his drink and wanders to the side of the room. “You bored yet?”

“I was bored before people started arriving.” Harley sighs, drains his glass. “How long do we have to stay here until leaving isn’t rude anymore?”

However out of place Peter might feel in Tony’s world of expensive suits and polite, meaningless talk and ass-kissing, he knows Harley – quiet, cynical Harley – feels it infinitely more.

“Probably another hour at least, right?” Harley eyes the bar. “Why aren’t we twenty-one yet?”

“_Harley_.”

“I’m kidding. Mostly. You know, three different women have squeezed my cheeks tonight? One of them did it _twice_. My face cheeks, just to clarify. You’d know about it if it wasn’t.”

“Rich people are…something.”

“Fuck, dude, they sure are. If I were Tony, I’d be insane by now.”

Peter grins, catching Tony’s gaze across the crowded room. He and Pepper have been trapped in the same conversation for the past five minutes now, and they’re both nodding politely but clearly not listening. Tony shoots Peter an exaggerated eye-roll before turning back to whoever’s talking with a barely-concealed smirk.

“Let’s go with humour is the best coping mechanism.”

“Definitely.” Harley tilts his head, a beseeching expression on his face. “Half an hour, then we bounce?”

“Sure, dude.”

A waiter appears beside them, his tray balanced perfectly. “Another drink, sir? Non-alcoholic, of course.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Harley takes a glass. “Pete?”

“I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll leave one on the table for you,” the waiter says, and disappears.

“Pushy guy,” Harley snorts.

“Probably on commission or something.”

“Probably.”

Peter watches the people milling around for another few minutes, trying to pinpoint the odd feeling of something being off. He finishes his first drink and picks up the one the waiter had left; Harley is already halfway through his.

“My legs are numb,” Harley announces. “Is that normal?”

“Dude, _no_. What?”

“Dunno.”

“You okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Peter sips his drink just for something to do. They only come to these things to make Tony happy, and he only asks them, apologies in his tone, to make Pepper happy, and she’s only trying to make the shareholders happy. This world is confusing, a constant dance of polite assertiveness, a language Peter doesn’t think he’ll ever understand. They just have to show their faces every so often, answer the same five questions about school, plans for college and what it’s like to be the future of Stark Industries. Meanwhile, Morgan gets to stay home and watch movies with May, so who really wins?

Harley leans back against the wall, his hands trembling.

It takes Peter a solid ten seconds to form a suitable response. In his defence, he’s distracted by the sudden tingling in his fingers. “You okay?”

“Mm.” That could be either yes or no.

“You wanna…?” Why is it so hard to talk? “Let’s go outside, dude, come on.”

“‘Kay.”

They skirt around the room, Harley occasionally stumbling but not badly enough to draw any attention. Peter feels like there’s something he’s forgetting, something _important,_ but it keeps escaping him, so is it really _that_ crucial?

Harley grabs Peter’s arm the second they’re through the door and heading towards the stairs, all the colour draining from his face.

“Dude!” Peter says; he should be alarmed at this, but honestly, he just isn’t.

“Are you two okay?”

“Um…”

“G’nna thr’w’p,” Harley mumbles.

The waiter who’d given them the drinks earlier appears, one hand on each of their elbows. “Let’s get you two outside, yeah?”

“No, I need–“

“You both look like you need some air.” They’re being ushered forward, unable to resist.

Peter’s knees almost give out. “Tony–“

“I’ll make sure to tell Mr Stark where you are.”

But something is still wrong, off, amiss. Harley stumbles again, his eyelids fluttering, as they’re hurried down the stairs, and then Peter sees the men waiting for them.

He lifts his hand – filled with static, deadened – and finds his watch.

* * *

Tony glances around the room again, wishing it wasn’t his event and he could get away with leaving early. He catches Pepper’s eye, and she beckons him over, her smile wide and perfectly cheerful, so he instantly knows something’s wrong.

“Excuse me.” He backs away from the Mayor – finally – and joins her. “What’s up, honey?”

“Tony,” she says, even and calm; her smile doesn’t slip an inch. “Where are the boys?”

Tony slowly turns towards where he’d last seen them, hovering beside the buffet table. Nothing. “I…”

“I’ll call Happy.”

“Yeah.” Harley hates events like these, so they could have called for a cab and left, Tony supposes, but even Harley isn’t stupid enough to do it without telling anyone. Besides, Peter has a way of scaling back his own recklessness and encouraging Harley to do the same – no, them leaving is looking less and less likely.

“They haven’t asked for a car.” Pepper reappears beside him. “Happy says no one’s left the building in the last half-hour.”

“They wouldn’t have just _left_.” Tony’s impressed upon them time and time again the importance of staying alert, staying safe. He tried his best to keep them out of the public eye, but the media always get hold of things eventually. “They know to always tell someone where they’re going, I _told _them how serious–“

He cuts off when his watch buzzes on his wrist: three short bursts, then two longer ones, over and over again. Peter’s distress signal.

Pepper’s is doing the same, and a glance to Tony’s left finds Happy, one hand hovering over the gun-shaped bulge in his jacket.

They dart for the stairs, moving as quickly as they dare without appearing panicked, nodding and smiling at various people.

“Fri, get me a location on both boys.” Harley had insisted that the trackers would only activate in the event of one of the panic buttons being pushed; Tony’s now seriously reconsidering that concession.

_“Two floors below you, in the stairwell.” _FRIDAY pauses. _“There are several other individuals with them.”_

Tony quickens his pace.

The moment the door closes behind them, shutting off the sounds of inane chatter, they bolt. Pepper lifts her dress with one hand as she runs, her heels tapping out a frantic rhythm down the stairs. Happy gets there first, skidding to a halt; Tony nearly collides with his back.

Peter is tugging an unconscious Harley to his feet, standing over several groaning men. He’s stumbling, breathing hard, but he stays standing as he looks around and notices them, all three frozen in shock.

“Oh, hey!” he says cheerfully, with a wave and a dopey grin. “What’s up, guys?”

They all stare at him. He stares back. Then he throws up on Pepper’s shoes.

* * *

Peter apologises the whole drive back, despite Pepper telling him to stop. Harley wakes up when they’re almost there, frowning at the car around him, his pupils blown.

“I’m so so _so_ sorry, Mrs Stark–“

“For God’s sake, Peter, you two nearly got kidnapped! You think I give a shit about my heels?”

“We were _wha’_?” Harley gasps, trying to sit up.

“Easy, Spud,” Tony says gently, and pushes him back. “You need to rest.”

“D’you think they noticed?” Peter slurs.

“Noticed what, Web-doodle?”

“I didn’t…um…” He points to Harley.

Luckily, Tony is fluent in Tired Teenager. “What, take a nap? Nah, they’ll probably just think you didn’t drink as much.”

“Should’ve…should’ve known something was wrong. I felt like something was off, and I didn’t–“

“Peter,” Pepper says firmly, “you pushed your panic button. You kept yourself and Harley safe. You couldn’t have done more.”

“But–“

“I’m proud of you, kid,” Tony tells him. Peter knocked out five men trying to kidnap him and Harley while drugged and disoriented. He could have lost both of them today, but Peter stepped up. “Real proud. You did good. Just relax now.”

“Hey, Boss?” Happy rolls down the privacy screen. “Got the lowdown from our guys back at the gala.”

“Hit me.”

“The plan was always to get the boys. Some of the waiters and bar staff were in on it, which was how the drinks were laced without a problem. You’ll never guess who’s in charge.”

“Who?” Pepper says.

“Carrington.”

Tony splutters. “That asshole? Really?”

“He probably wasn’t the brains behind the plan, but he was going to use the kids to try and pressure you into a deal.”

“He in custody?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Keep him there. I’ll come back into the city tomorrow – I want a stern word with him.”

“You got it, Boss.”

He rests his hand on Harley’s head, brushes Peter’s curls off his forehead. For now, all he cares about is that they’re safe and unharmed, if a little loopy. He can deal with the rest tomorrow. For now, he just wants his kids, and he has them. They’re okay.


	8. explosion, pinned down, 'don't move', asphyxiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” Tony snaps, kicking his legs to see if he can move a little closer to the kid. No such luck. “Hey, focus up. Don’t conk out on me. I’m gonna be lonely.”
> 
> “‘M s’rry.”
> 
> “No, don’t be sorry. Just stay awake.”
> 
> “Hurts,” Peter wheezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how is this nearly done?

Tony opens his eyes with a groan of effort. He flexes his fingers, feels familiar armour wrapped around them. Okay, so he’s probably on a mission. He tries to sit up, but something is pressing down on his chest, something that creaks and groans and shifts dangerously.

“Don’t move.”

He knows that voice.

“Mr Stark, don’t move.”

“…Peter?”

“Oh, thank God,” Peter gasps. “I mean – I could hear you breathing, and your heartbeat, but I didn’t know if – are you hurt?”

“Don’t think so,” Tony grunts. His eyes start to focus, on Peter’s face only a few feet in front of him, on the mounds of concrete and rubble surrounding them, on the huge chunks of building pinning both of them to the floor.

Right. The mission. The base. FRIDAY blaring a warning in his ears. The explosion. Peter’s terrified scream. Nothing.

And now, he can’t move, can’t see any of Peter past his chest. One of the kid’s arms is trapped, too.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” Peter’s words are coming out wrong, a little too short and choppy. “I tried to lift it when I woke up first, but it moved too much and I wasn’t sure, so…”

Tony nods, folding his mask back, and notices that Peter’s missing his. “Where’s your mask?”

“Kinda…threw it.” Peter gestures uselessly to the scrap of familiar red fabric, just out of either of their reaches. “When I woke up. I was panicking.”

“Because of Toomes?” Tony asks, and Peter manages a jerky nod. “Right. Okay. The others will know something’s up by now. FRIDAY, dear?”

_“I can’t get a signal through the debris.”_

“Okay,” Tony says calmly. “Still no need to panic. We just have to wait. We’re not sealed in. We won’t run out of air.”

“About that…”

Tony meets Peter’s eyes, horror flooding him. “Are you hurt? Tell me the damn truth.”

“No, but…this piece of wall – could be a floor or a ceiling, I suppose–“

“Peter.”

“It’s, um, I can’t move it without shifting the whole thing. And it’s kinda crushing me. I can’t really breathe, and it’s – it’s getting worse.”

Tony swears.

* * *

He spends the next hour trying to keep Peter awake and talking. FRIDAY had confirmed his guess that they weren’t sealed in, only trapped by the sheer amount of rubble on top of them, so he doesn’t need to worry about suffocating. Peter, on the other hand, seems to be slipping in and out of awareness, his eyes sometimes slipping closed.

“Hey,” Tony snaps, kicking his legs to see if he can move a little closer to the kid. No such luck. “Hey, focus up. Don’t conk out on me. I’m gonna be lonely.”

“‘M s’rry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. Just stay awake.”

“Hurts,” Peter wheezes.

“I know, kid, I’m sorry.”

“T’ny…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Can’t breathe,” Peter gasps. His free arm reaches out to Tony, his fingers grasping weakly. “Can’t…”

“It’s okay, buddy.” Tony tries to wiggle his legs again. Nothing. “Keep looking at me. I’m here, I’m right here.”

Peter’s eyelids flutter. Only one thing for it, Tony decides. He’s not watching his kid die, not again. Never again.

“Peter – Peter!”

“Mm…”

“You need to push it off, buddy. Lift it.”

“But–“

“My suit will protect me, okay? But you gotta get all that off you.”

“‘Kay.” Peter squeezes his eyes shut.

Tony flips his faceplate shut. “Okay, you got this, kiddo. Push.”

What happens next, he isn’t quite sure, but Peter yells and surges upwards, and the whole thing shifts, and then something hits the back of Tony’s head and everything goes black.

* * *

“Mr Stark? Mr Stark! Oh God, oh shit – shit!”

“Language,” is the first thing Tony says.

“Oh, thank God!” Peter gasps. “I thought I’d killed you for real!”

“Still kicking, kid.” Tony opens his eyes and retracts his helmet in the same second. Peter is crouching in front of him, almost grey with dust but no longer trapped. Small victories. “Good. You’re out. Anything hurt?”

“Think a rib or two, maybe. Nothing major.”

“Yeah, we’ll re-evaluate your definition of _major _once we get out of here.” Tony gives his legs another experimental wiggle.

“Yeah, I started, like, digging you out, but I wasn’t sure if everything was still stable.”

“Fri?”

_“Scanning for viable exit routes. For now, your section of the collapse is holding steady.”_

“Thanks, girl.” Tony reaches out to ruffle Peter’s hair, relishing the fact his kid is within arm’s reach once again. “Well done, Pete.”

“They’re gonna find us, right?” Peter says quietly.

Honestly, between being knocked out twice and putting all his energy into keeping Peter conscious and talking, Tony’s completely lost track of how long they’ve been stuck here. He forces a smile anyway, hopes it looks convincing. “Of course they will. Cap’s probably just giving a long speech. You know what he’s like.”

Peter laughs, and Tony silently congratulates himself. He must be a better liar than he thought.

* * *

Hours pass. Peter slowly digs Tony the rest of the way out, then falls asleep curled up in his lap, his heater on full blast, his arm curled protectively over his injured ribs.

Tony’s going stir crazy; the piles of rubble hemming them in are starting to look more and more like the walls of a cave, closing in around him. Not to mention Peter has his own not-so-fond memories, courtesy of the Vulture. Rescue can’t come fast enough.

Every so often, things will shift and crash above their heads. It’s unnerving, even though Tony knows logically that it’s just the wreckage settling. He hopes their little bubble stays standing.

_“Boss.” _FRIDAY sounds hesitant. _“This area now seems to be sealed. It’s airtight.”_

So much for their sanctuary.

Tony grimaces. “Don’t tell the kid. No need for him to panic.” They don’t have the air for that.

_“You got it.”_

“Any news from upstairs?”

_“Still can’t get a signal.”_

“Okay.” Tony gently shifts Peter, holding him a little closer.

The kid stirs, blinks, stares at Tony blearily. “Everything okay?”

“All good, Underoos. You?”

“Hungry.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“‘S’okay. Just bored now.”

“Yeah, they’re taking their sweet time, aren’t they?”

“Mm.” A few moments later, Peter’s head is resting on Tony’s chest again, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Tony wishes he could hum, whisper reassurances in Peter’s ear, something, but every bit of him is geared towards keeping Peter breathing. He doesn’t know how long he has – he’s too afraid to ask – but he’ll spend his last gasp of air on protecting his kid. He’s faced an end not dissimilar to this before – cold, starving, suffocating. It’s not his own death he’s afraid of.

He should just let Peter sleep. Sleep means even, steady breathing, means no realisation of their rapidly approaching death. _Fuck_.

Tony’s grateful that Peter managed to free him. He doesn’t think he’d be able to take this if he wasn’t able to hold his kid, if he was pinned down and trapped and unable to comfort him.

The wreckage rumbles again, more insistent this time. Peter jolts awake.

“It’s okay,” Tony says automatically.

“I think…” Peter pulls away from him, opens his mouth and _screams_. “Hey! Hey, we’re down here!”

“Kid–“

“Steve! Rhodey!”

Rhodey, thank God. “Hey, careful! It’s not–“

With a final crash, the rubble falls aside and fresh air floods their little hole. Tony squints in the sudden light; Peter coughs on the dust it throws up.

Rhodey peers down at them, his face relaxing into a relieved smirk.

“Took you long enough,” Tony snaps, before turning to Peter. “Told you they’d find us.”

“You were worried.” Peter’s coated in dust, white from head to toe. He’s alive and breathing, though, and Tony will take that over anything else.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“Well, I’m always worried, so it doesn’t count.”

Rhodey clears his throat. “You two coming out, or did we dig you up for nothing?”

“Yeah, yeah, honeybear, we’re coming.” Tony groans as Peter helps him to his feet; his armour is dented and chipped, repulsors sparking uselessly. “How’re your webshooters, Underoos?”

“One’s okay.”

Tony sighs and resigns himself to being carried by his teenage kid. “All right. Fine. Let’s go.”

Rhodey’s smirk widens, and Tony knows it’s going to be a long time before he hears the end of this.


	9. humiliation, tear-stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Peter Parker! The boy who would be king.”
> 
> Peter sticks his chin out without a flicker of fear; pride swells in Tony’s gut.
> 
> “And he’s nothing but a filthy fucking mutant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really not ready for this to be over

Their captors are having way too much fun with this.

How they’d been captured, Tony doesn’t know. He remembers picking the kid up from school, stopping at their favourite shitty diner, and then nothing.

And now he’s tied to a hard chair, his wrists bound to the arms and the back forcing him to sit up straight. Peter is sitting by his feet, hands cuffed behind his back, resting his head against Tony’s knee in an effort to get any comfort he can.

“I could–“

“No,” Tony says sharply. He knows what Peter’s asking, knows the metal cuffs are probably nothing to him, but they can’t risk revealing anything yet. “We need to just…wait it out.”

Peter shoots him a doubtful look. “For what? Them to come in and torture us? Demand a ransom?”

“We don’t know that’s what–“

“Mr Stark, that’s _always _what it is.”

Tony tugs on the ropes again. Nothing. “Kinda hate that we get kidnapped so often we’ve built up a set of expectations about it.”

“We’re Vikings, it’s an occupational hazard,” Peter drawls.

“Also hate that I understood that reference.”

Peter snorts. “My Lit teacher says that expectations are dangerous because they’re comfortable, when really they can be subverted at any time and take us by surprise.”

“Your teacher sounds like a smart person.”

Tony jumps; he hadn’t heard the door open, and he can’t see anything behind him because of this _stupid fucking chair_.

“Oh, no.” Even though his tone is nonchalant, Peter shuffles so he’s kneeling up rather than sitting: a little more prepared, a little less vulnerable. “It’s the bad guys, coming to subvert our expectations.”

It’s Tony’s turn to snort.

Their kidnapper strolls around so he’s standing in front of them; he looks young, younger than the creeps who normally grab them. He’s wearing all black, as are the two huge men flanking him.

“Wow,” Peter says. “The small dick energy you’re giving off, man…”

“That’s enough from you,” the man says dismissively.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, get on with it,” Tony interrupts. Keep the focus away from Peter. “You have us here. Congratulations. You’re not the first. What do you want?”

“Just to welcome Tony Stark, the Merchant of Death.”

Fucking wonderful. “That’s not me anymore.”

“No? I gave you a throne and everything.”

“Back problems is what you’re giving me.”

“And Peter Parker! The boy who would be king.”

Peter sticks his chin out without a flicker of fear; pride swells in Tony’s gut.

“And he’s nothing but a filthy fucking _mutant_.”

_Shit. Shit shit shit_. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony growls.

“No? I think I do.” He observes Peter for a long moment. “It took me a long time to figure out why the hell Tony Stark was so interested in a nobody from Queens, what the hell you saw in him. Makes sense you only wanted him for what he can do.”

“That’s not true.”

Peter climbs to his feet, twisting his hands in the cuffs. “You’re wrong.”

“Shall we find out?” The man steps towards Peter, hands behind his back, mirroring his stance, before stalking in a slow circle around him. “On your knees.”

“Dude, no–“

The man kicks the back of Peter’s knee and shoves him in the shoulder. Peter goes down hard, unable to catch himself.

Tony jerks forward, but the ropes hold firm. “Hey!”

“You think you get to stand among men like us? You’re nothing. Just a worthless freak.” He lunges forward, grabbing a fistful of Peter’s hair, and pulls the kid to his knees. “Now, _kneel_.”

“Oh, fuck you–“ Peter breaks off with a wheeze when the man boots him in the stomach. In the corner of the room, a guard holds up something long and thin, brandishing it threateningly – a cattle prod.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. There’s only one way to stop his kid being hurt. “Peter. Do as he says.”

He doesn’t need to look to see utter betrayal settle over Peter’s face, but he does anyway.

“There, you see? Even he agrees you need to learn your place.”

Tony’s going to kill him. Or throw up. Or both, in no particular order. Sure, Peter had just been sitting on the floor a few minutes ago, but this is different; it’s deliberate and degrading.

“Good boy, Peter,” the man coos when Peter doesn’t move from his position on the floor, and strokes a hand through his hair like he’s a dog.

Even with Peter’s head bowed, Tony can see the humiliated tears rising to his eyes. Anger burns sourly in his throat; maybe this isn’t any better than leaving Peter to be beaten.

“Do you want to stroke it, Stark?”

“I – what?”

“It’s being so good.” The man gently caresses the top of Peter’s head. “Look, mutant, our human guest gets a chair, and you get exactly what you deserve: nothing.”

“Fuck off,” Tony spits.

“Go on.” The man suddenly fists his hand in Peter’s hair again and shoves him back towards Tony’s chair. “We’ll leave you for a moment. Try and break out of those cuffs if you want; they’re made for freaks like you.”

The door slams and they’re alone.

“Kid–“

“‘M okay,” Peter mumbles, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Tony wishes he could believe that. “I’m sorry, buddy, I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

Peter lets out a shuddering breath and finally lifts his head. Tears are trickling down his cheeks.

“_Peter_,” Tony whispers.

“‘S’fine,” Peter says with a shaky smile. “It’s nothing I haven’t thought before.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true, though, right? I’m not, like, fully human – my DNA is part spider. And we wouldn’t have ever met if I was normal, so–“

“Hey, listen. Look at me.” Tony wishes he could cup Peter’s face, wipe his tears away. “You are not any of those things, anything he said, you understand? I love you, and I’m so damn proud of you, of everything you do.”

“Everything?” Peter mumbles, his lips quirking. Progress.

“Even the dumb shit, because I know you’re trying your best. Kid.” He meets Peter’s eyes, trying to communicate every ounce of his impossible, overwhelming love. “I tore a hole through the universe to get you back. No one else, just you, because you’re my kid, my Peter.”

Peter rests his head on Tony’s leg and sighs again.

Tony hesitates. He hates this so damn much. “Buddy…”

“You want me to play along?”

“I’m sorry, but between that and you getting kicked, punched and electrocuted…”

“Yeah, okay.” Peter frowns at the ropes around Tony’s wrists. “Want me to try and get you out of that?”

“You try those cuffs yet?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t lying.”

“Then no. We’re gonna have to just sit tight.”

“This is shit,” Peter mutters, pressing his forehead into Tony’s leg again.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know, Webs.”

“I can hear them coming back.”

Tony clenches his fists.

Peter looks up, his eyebrows pulling together. “They’re laughing.”

_Jesus_. “I’m sorry,” Tony says quickly, “I know it’s shit, I’m sorry.” Peter still looks tense, apprehensive, so he continues, “I don’t think any less of you. Whatever they say, it’s just – they’re talking out of their asses, okay? A hundred percent bullshit.”

“Okay.” Peter nods frenetically. “Okay, okay.” He clambers to his feet.

“Please don’t piss them off,” Tony breathes.

Peter smirks, the exact shit-eating grin that tells Tony he’s about to make a movie reference. “My friend, I kneel to no one.”

“Said that backwards,” Tony shoots back, and Peter laughs just as the door opens.

“Back on your feet?” It’s the same guy. Tony wants to punch his smarmy face in. “Sit, doggy.”

“Screw you,” Tony says before Peter can retort.

The man stays behind Tony, a smirk in his tone. “Bring it here.”

Tony can’t see what he’s asking for, but Peter can; his eyes go wide and he backs away.

“Come here,” the man snaps.

“Dude, no. Fuck, no.”

Tony can’t twist his head to see past the back of the chair, can’t even look at what’s happening.

“You’re Stark’s pet already. This just makes it official.”

“Get that thing away from me,” Peter says with real venom. His back is against the wall now. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Didn’t you ever train it, Stark?” one of the guards says, chuckling. “We’re happy to help.”

Tony curls his lip, wrinkles his nose. “You’re disgusting.”

“Last chance,” the leader says, his voice coming from just behind Tony.

“Don’t come near me with that, I swear to _God_–“

The same guard strides forward and jabs the cattle prod into Peter’s ribs; he screams and crashes to the floor as his knees give out, his arms once again unable to catch him. The guard just laughs.

“Stop it!” Tony yells, jerking forward. Peter gasps out a half-aborted sob, still twitching on the ground. “He’s a kid, you sick fuck.”

“He’s a freak of nature.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you’re still on that. Peter?” Tony has never felt so useless. “Pete, you good?”

“Ow,” Peter groans.

He’s alive. That’s better than any alternative.

The second guard is stepping forward to join the first, something dangling from one of his hands, and Tony sees red. They’re walking towards his kid with a fucking collar.

“No,” he says, voice rising, “no, absolutely fucking not. Get the _hell _away from him.”

They’re laughing, reaching out for Peter who’s still prone on the floor.

“I’m going to kill you, every single fucking one of you!” Tony bellows. “You’re _dead_, you fucking–!“

Peter leaps to his feet, his arms suddenly swinging free, and dropkicks the guard holding the collar as he springs off the wall. The other guard goes down with a single punch, and Peter slams the leader’s head into the wall before dropping him to the floor. Tony gapes.

“Okay,” Peter says, more to himself than anything, “okay, cool.”

“_Shit_, Parker.” Tony’s voice trembles – how embarrassing.

“Yeah. Yeah, um…lemme get you out of those.” Peter starts to pull at the ropes with one hand, the cuffs still dangling off that wrist.

“How did you–?”

“I dislocated my thumb.”

Tony glances at his other hand and has to swallow down a swell of nausea. “Yep. You, uh, sure did.” One of his arms comes free, skin raw where he’d yanked on the ropes, and he quickly helps Peter with the second one. “How did you know that would work?”

“Bucky and Sam showed me how.” Now Tony’s free, Peter’s cradling his injured hand against his chest.

Tony stands and groans as his back protests. “Of course they did.”

“Never showed me how to put it back in, though.”

“Of course they didn’t.” He turns around to look at the chair; it’s covered in ornate carvings, its tall back shaped like a throne. “Okay. These guys were…”

“Yeah.” Peter steals another glance at the discarded collar. Tony wishes he had a suit, or even just one of his gauntlets, so he could blast it into a pile of smoking ash.

“Well done,” he says instead. The pride is back, bubbling up and drowning everything else out. “Seriously, kid, that was badass.”

Peter looks back at him, cracking a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. That?” Tony gestures to their unconscious captors. He doesn't know who they were or what they wanted, and he doesn't much care. “That was all you.”

Peter ducks his head, but this time it’s to hide his grin. “Yeah. Guess so. Um, you wanna get out of here?”

“You good?” Tony rubs his wrists and gives the kid a cursory up-and-down look. It’s not quite three months being tortured in a dark cave, but just watching that was painful. “Tell me the truth.”

“I’m fine,” Peter promises. “Really, I’m okay. Aside from, uh, my thumb.”

“All right, let’s split.” Tony holds an aching arm out and Peter stumbles towards him as if pulled by an invisible thread. Now, now he can finally wipe the last of the tears from his kid’s face. “Thanks, kid. Saved both our asses.”

“Any time.”

Tony presses a quick kiss to his temple as they hurry out of the room and towards what he hopes is the exit. “Yeah, no. We’re not making a habit of this.”

Peter holds up his mangled hand. “Can this go on our list of expectations?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter to go! if you've bothered doing the process of elimination, you'll know that the prompts left are adrenaline, trembling, secret injury and 'stay with me' and it is...something lmao. see you then!


	10. adrenaline, trembling, secret injury, 'stay with me'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are!! on time and everything! thank you to everyone who's followed this story, and thank you for your awesome comments on the last chapter.
> 
> endgame?? idk her. also just a heads-up: i've tried to be fairly neutral on the whole steve v tony thing, but it might not come across like that because of the povs i've used. enjoy!

“Why?”

“Because.”

“But seriously, why?”

“Because I said so.”

“‘Because I said so’,” Peter mocks. “That’s not an answer.”

“Don’t be childish.”

“Don’t be a dictator.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tony massages his temples, trying to ease the blooming headache. “You can’t go on missions because you’re not an Avenger.”

“You made me–“

“Nuh-uh. Emergency appointment. Doesn’t count.”

“You’re retired,” Peter says, just on the verge of scathing. “You can’t tell me what to do. _You’re_not an Avenger.”

“No, but I’m…” Tony trails off. What is he? Not quite a parent, but too close to just be a mentor. “I’m still responsible for you, whether I’m an active member or not. You don’t answer to Capsicle, you got that? He calls, you say no.”

“Fine,” Peter mutters.

“Yeah, _fine_. Really helping your case there, acting like a five-year-old.”

Peter turns and stalks out without another word, which completely puts paid to Tony's intention of telling him that 'no' now doesn't mean 'no' forever; it means that the group being targeted on this particular mission take a very dim view of people with powers, and he'd rather not have Peter anywhere near them. Five minutes later, FRIDAY stiffly informs Tony that Happy has taken the kid back to New York.

Tony rubs his head again. _Shit_.

* * *

Peter strides into the Avengers Compound and tracks Steve down without too much trouble; he’s in one of the conference rooms with Sam and Natasha, going over the mission details. Perfect.

“Queens,” Steve says, half confused, half friendly. “Everything okay?”

“I’m here for the briefing.” Peter takes a seat and looks at him expectantly.

“I…Tony said no. In no uncertain terms.”

“Tony’s not the boss of me,” Peter says flatly.

Sam glances at him, then back at Steve. “You’re literally his intern.”

“I’m old enough to make my own decisions. He made me an Avenger.” Peter swallows down the sour memory of _‘doesn’t count’_. “You don’t need to go through him.”

Natasha observes him for a long moment before shrugging, her expression never changing. “At least this way we can stick with the original plan: three on the ground in close quarters, one in the air.”

“Yeah, okay. All right, Queens, you listening?”

Peter settles back in his chair, trying to quell the excitement burning in his stomach, and listens.

* * *

A week later, having still not spoken to Tony at all, he’s boarding the Quinjet at five in the morning. Natasha greets him with a wordless nod and hands him a cup of coffee and an earpiece.

“Thanks.” He takes a sip; she has his order exactly right. “I have a commlink in my suit, though.”

“This is a closed channel,” she explains. “No one gets in or out apart from us.”

Peter swallows. This is starting to feel very serious all of a sudden. “Right.”

Natasha looks like she’s going to say something else, but Steve and Sam arrive so she turns to them with a dry, “Finally.”

“Five in the morning, Romanoff. Five in the damn morning.”

“The teenager got here before you.” Natasha hands them both their coffees and sits in the pilot seat. “No excuses.”

Sam rolls his eyes and takes a seat. Peter does the same, waiting patiently.

“Okay, we’re clear for takeoff,” Natasha says, flicking some switches overhead. The door slides closed. “ETA half an hour.”

“You still up for this, Queens?” Steve says.

“Of course.” Peter smirks. “Do you think I dragged myself out of bed at five in the morning for fun?”

Steve grins back. “Point taken. You’ve been spending too much time with Tony.”

“Yeah, uh, not so much lately.” Peter avoids Steve’s questioning glance and drains the last of his coffee.

“All right.” Steve stands up straighter. “Everyone needs to stay sharp on this one. You were all there in the briefing; you know these guys are mean. Peter, you especially need to be careful – there’s evidence they don’t look too kindly on enhanced people.”

Peter nods.

“We need to clear a path to get inside – Nat, Peter, you head towards the centre of the base and see what information you can find, while Sam and I cover you.”

“Sounds good.” Natasha glances at something on one of her screens. “We’ll set down about a half mile out in case they have better scanners than we’re aware off.”

Steve nods. “Everyone suit up.”

* * *

“Stay in touch,” Steve reminds them as Natasha gently guides the Quinjet down. “Yell if you need help; there’s no shame in it.” Most of this seems to be directed at Peter. “If you get hurt, fall back. We don’t need to lose anyone today, that clear?”

They all nod. Peter’s leg bounces in anticipation.

“This is only a fringe group of HYDRA, but they’ll still be nasty. Watch out for yourself and everyone else.”

“Got it,” Sam agrees.

“All right. Let’s get these bastards.”

Natasha pretends to be shocked. “Language, Steve. There’s children here.”

“Really?” Peter complains.

“Is that ever gonna stop being funny?”

“Never,” Natasha says, and slips out of the jet without another word.

* * *

Peter’s running on pure adrenaline. The fight is vicious, and he’s worried he might actually be losing.

He suit is completely down; some sort of EMP had been detonated the second they’d entered the base. Only Sam had been far enough out of range to avoid it, thankfully managing to remain airborne.

Except it means Peter can’t hear Steve or Natasha, hasn’t been able to for what seems like hours. He can’t send out a distress call if things get really dicey. He can’t even ask Karen for help. The one saving grace is that his webs operate on a trigger mechanism; he still has those, at least, as well as his powers.

He scrambles up the wall to dodge a blow and webs the guy to the floor before hopping onto the ceiling and scampering along.

“Hey! This one’s enhanced!”

Good news: they all turn away from Natasha, allowing her to slip down the corridor and towards the control room. Bad news: every single one of them turns their guns on him instead.

They really do hate enhanced people.

“Oh, hey, guys!” he says brightly. “How you doing?”

“Get the freak!”

“Rude!” Peter scampers along the ceiling. “You don’t even wanna get to know me first?”

Something thuds into his side, like a dull punch. He ignores it; it can’t be that bad.

“Okay, so you’re not chatty. That’s fine.”

“Get him down from there!”

“No, this is my ceiling!” Peter throws a web grenade, pinning three men to the wall. Good: his webshooters had been turned to web grenades when Karen cut out, which means he can incapacitate several people at a time. Bad: they use up a lot of web fluid, and he has no way of telling when he’s getting low. “I like it up here.”

He moves on nothing but pure instinct, the buzz of the battle taking over. He can totally do this! Avenger or not, he has this down. Besides, after facing down the end of the world, nothing seems like a challenge anymore–

Another blunt _thump_, this time in his shoulder. Peter absently wonders what they’re hitting him with.

“Okay, rude,” he says, and turns a corner, trying to draw them away from the control room to buy Natasha a little more time. Steve is further down the corridor, charging towards an exit, his shield thrust out in front of him.

The back of Peter’s neck prickles, his senses scream, and he dodges something that whizzes past him and embeds itself in the wall. Wild.

The assault suddenly intensifies, the men’s shouts growing angrier.

“I have all the data!” Natasha calls behind them. That’ll be why.

“Everyone on the jet!” Steve bellows. “We’re getting out of here, now!”

“Where’s Sam?” Peter yells. “I mean – Falcon – shit.” He drops to floor and charges after Steve.

“He’ll see us from the air. Come on, outside.”

“Natasha–“

“Will find her own way out. Go, now.”

Peter does as he’s told – he’s part of the team now, and Steve is in charge. Just as he reaches the door, he feels another impact, this time in his leg, this one stinging a little more than the first two. “Ow.”

“You all good?” Steve doesn’t turn, doesn’t slow his headlong sprint towards the Quinjet.

“Yeah, fine!”

Sam swoops overhead, Natasha dangling from his arms. They all reach the jet within ten seconds of each other, gasping for breath, and Natasha leaps to start the takeoff sequence.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam pants. “They were fucked up.”

Peter can’t stop shaking. Why can’t he stop?

“Everyone okay?” Natasha calls, switching to autopilot.

His hands are trembling.

“Kid, you good?”

“I…”

“Queens?” Steve taps him on the shoulder, and Peter _screams_. “Peter!”

“Steve, his shoulder–“

“Shit–“

Peter starts to fall. The floor rushes up to meet him, and he braces for it–

Hands, on his shoulders, his head, his back, his stomach.

“Stay with me,” Steve orders, “Queens, stay with me.”

_But I’m tired._

“Yeah, I know, but you can’t go to sleep. Not yet, you hear me?”

_I said that?_

“Shit,” someone – Natasha? – mutters. “Stark’s gonna kill us.”

The last thing Peter thinks is _Tony doesn’t know_. He slides into the darkness, almost grateful; it doesn’t hurt in there.

* * *

Tony frowns at the empty kitchen. Peter’s been avoiding him all week, but it’s never been as obvious as the kid just not showing up for breakfast.

“FRIDAY, get Web-doodle down here. I’ve made his favourite.”

_“Peter is not in the tower.”_

“He’s – what? Where is he?”

_“I’m not sure.”_FRIDAY sounds uncertain. _“I can’t track him at all.”_

It hits Tony then. The mission, the one Steve had asked for Peter to join – that’s _today_. “That little shit,” he breathes, fumbling for his phone. “Fri, get me Rogers.”

_“He is currently offline.”_

“Oh, I will leave him a fucking message.” Tony grits his teeth. “Rogers, you get your star-spangled ass back here right the hell now, and make sure you bring that little toddler with you. He’s a child, you hear me? A fucking child.”

A few minutes later: “What part of _no _don’t you understand, you All-American asshole? I’m gonna kill you.”

And not too long after that: “And don’t you _dare _start with me about Germany. That wasn’t gonna be a fight until you started throwing punches and dropping jetways onto kids. You brought my kid into a war zone.”

His hands are trembling around his phone, his breaths coming hard and short. He knows he can’t keep Peter from being Spider-Man, but he’d thought - _hoped _– he wouldn’t have to worry about Avengers missions for a few years at least. He can’t lose the kid, not again.

And then: “You’re bringing an enhanced person right to the doorstep of an organisation that – shit, I don’t even want to remind myself what they do to people like him. Get back here now.”

Five minutes later: “Rogers, I’m not kidding around–“

_“Tony?”_

Tony freezes. He’d been so caught up in his rant that he’d forgotten he was waiting for a response. “…Steve?”

_“Listen, we – we’re on our way back.”_Is he imagining things, or is Steve’s voice wavering?

“Damn straight you are.”

_“I need you to prep medical.”_

The ground seems to fall away. “…for who? Steve?”

_“I’m really sorry, Tony. He said – he was so sure–“_

“Rogers! Who. Is. Hurt?”

_“Peter.”_

Tony’s phone clatters to the floor.

——

Peter wakes up to shouting.

“–I told you no, I told _him _no! So when he comes to you saying yes, assume the little shit is lying!”

“I–“

“No! Can it, Rogers!”

“He did well, Tony.”

“As what? Target practice?” A beat of silence. “I swear, Rogers, if you took my kid to be a distraction–“

“Of course not! You have to know I’d never–“

“I don’t know that, Rogers! I don’t know, and now I’m even less sure about you than I was before.”

“Tony…”

Peter rolls his head to the side and peels open one eye. He meets Pepper’s gaze, her expression sympathetic.

“Is…?” His tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. “What…?”

“You’re okay, honey. May’s just getting some rest.”

“Hey, Romanoff! Wilson! Don’t think you’re getting off so easily.”

“T’ny…”

Pepper pushes his hair back off his forehead with a gentle smile. “You scared him, kiddo. That’s all.”

“‘M s’rry.”

“I know.”

“I jus’…” Peter struggles for the words. “‘M not a kid.”

“I know,” Pepper says again. “Do you want to see him, or do you want to go back to sleep?”

Before Peter can formulate an answer, the door flies open and he flinches at the sound.

“Tony!” Pepper hisses.

“What? Oh – hey, kid.”

“Hey, Misser S’ark.”

Tony shakes his head, but the look he sends Peter is gentle. “We’re gonna have a serious conversation about this when you’re fully awake.”

Peter probably deserves that. “‘Kay.”

“Don’t ever do something like this again.”

“Mm-hm.”

Pepper slips out with a sympathetic smile. Peter gives a plaintive whine as his last buffer disappears; he’s alone with a pissed-off Tony.

“T’ny–“

“Not right now, Peter.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you understand how close that was? Do you understand why I told you not to go on that mission?”

“I just wanted–“

“If you say ‘be like me’, Parker, I swear–“

“I’m not a _kid_, Mr Stark.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are. What’s more, you’re my kid. My grounded kid – I don’t even have to speak to May to know that’s coming, kiddo.”

Peter grumbles in the back of his throat.

“We can’t lose you, Peter, not again. I can’t do that.”

“I know,” Peter whines, hoping he looks as pitiful as he feels.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters. “Why is it so hard to be mad at you?”

“Dunno.”

“Go back to sleep, kid.” Tony takes Pepper’s seat. “Both your aunt and I are gonna have some strong words for you when you’re better.”

“‘M s’rry,” Peter says again.

“Yeah, I bet. Three gunshot wounds?” Tony sighs, reaches over to cup Peter’s cheek, strokes a gentle thumb under his eye. “Go on, you can sleep. Promise I won’t kill Rogers while you’re out.”

“Wasn’t all his fault.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” But the hand doesn’t pull away, and Peter relaxes into it. “You’re all right, kid, it’s all right.”

“Stay wi’ me?” Peter slurs. His eyelids are fluttering; he’s fighting sleep and losing.

“Always, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, thank you for following this story to the end!
> 
> coming up for me: more chapters of 'bits and pieces' (we might finally get to ffh, who knows lol), more irondad bingo prompts, and of course the next part of 'family business'. i'm also doing the irondad fic exchange this year, and i have both a bad things happen bingo card and a found family bingo card. guess it'll depend if i'm in the mood for whump or fluff ;)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @akillerqueenwrites, or my main blog @akillerqueenyouare. come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. thank you for reading!


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